


Just Dreams

by anotherthief



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2498420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherthief/pseuds/anotherthief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She dreams in black and white. Post-Journey's End.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 4/4/12 on my LiveJournal.
> 
> For Chris.

She dreams in black and white.  
  
The pictures aren’t always clear. Sometimes they are but they don’t make sense. There’s a library with books but no people. Normally she would laugh, make a joke, it’s funny in its oddity. She never liked books much anyways. But something about it scares her. There’s never a soul and never a sound. She walks the shelves without ever getting anywhere. And even though she knows it's empty, sometimes she can almost hear a child crying.  
  
Other times there are... well they’re not people, but sometimes there are beings or  _something_. Something that’s alive other than her. They’re things or aliens or something else preposterous, but they live and breathe and move and that’s worth making note of. In one of those dreams,  _something_  walks around holding a light in a ball, and there’s a giant brain singing the most beautiful song she’s ever heard.  _A giant brain that sings_. She shakes her head. None of it ever makes much sense.  
  
At first she would talk about the dreams, but she doesn’t anymore. Her mother looks at her like she’s gone round the bend on a normal day. But those looks she’s used to. Those looks sting but she accepts them and ignores them because some things will never change. But after she would recount one of her funny dreams, the looks her mother gave her were much worse. Fear and panic would flash in her mother’s eyes. She doesn’t understand why. They’re just dreams. But she stops so that the looks will stop. Because they are just dreams; it doesn’t matter if she shares them anyways.  
  
Sometimes though, she talks to her granddad about them. Stories shared under the night sky are somehow easier. Wilf doesn’t want to discuss the dreams, but he listens like it’s a serious matter and somehow that makes her feel important if only for a few moments.  
  
The dream she likes best is the only one with a person in it. At least she thinks it’s a person, that  _he’s_  a person. It’s the fuzziest though and she can’t really be sure, but he seems human enough. He also seems to like her, and that’s the best part. It’s the weirdest thing though. The dream never happens in the same place. The scenery always changes. But there he is and not far from him is an old police box. It appears to follow him wherever he goes and for whatever reason that makes her laugh.  
  
She holds off for the longest telling Wilf about the man with the box. For reasons she never quite pinpoints, she holds that one close. It’s hers and she likes that. But one night, more than two years after the dreams started, she tells him.  
  
She stares at the stars while Wilf looks through the telescope following the movements of Venus or Mercury or what might actually be a plane (not that she’d ever tell him that). She talks about the different places the man turns up and how he seems to know her. She rambles for a while, not sure why she’s choosing to tell him now. Tonight is a night just like any other, but she lets the words come and trusts her instincts, if only just this once.  
  
Finally she tells him about the box. He’s been fiddling with his telescope and she didn’t really know how much attention he was paying to her rambling, but when she brings up the box he stops adjusting the telescope and sits down beside her. Still, he doesn’t say anything, and after a moment she keeps going. She pauses, and she laughs a little, and even though she’s never been inside the box in her dreams, she tells him it’s bigger on the inside. She doesn’t know how she knows this but she does. She just shrugs it off as one of those dream things.  
  
They stare up at the stars without seeing them for a little while, and then she tells him the last detail of her dreams about the man with the box and the places he turns up. When she does, he takes her hand and squeezes it tight.  
  
 _Sometimes the box almost looks blue._


End file.
